


Wind In Face

by NancyBrown



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen, POV Nonhuman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-08 18:51:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16434887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NancyBrown/pseuds/NancyBrown
Summary: The problem with sheep is that they are delicious.





	Wind In Face

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hyacinthus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyacinthus/gifts).



The problem with sheep is that they are delicious.

Myfanwy does not think of herself as Myfanwy, but as Wind In Face, the same clacking sounds her mother called her in the nest. The name her humans call her is strange and musical. The human who feeds her smells sad when he says the word, tossing whole fish into the air for her to snap in her beak, or leaving her tasty entrails to peck at out of her dish. She likes the food he beings her even if his smell is sorrowful when he says her name.

But sheep. Sheep are tasty. She clacks her own beak thinking about it. Woolly soft exterior, crunchy bones, and wonderful meat all the way through. Fish are fine. She ate fish back before the light brought her through, back in her world with all the other fliers, and the great beasts that rocked the Earth with their steps, and the vicious killers in the shallow pools where she fed. She likes fish. But she likes sheep a lot more.

"Sorry, old girl," says her feeder. "We can't let you out tonight."

She makes a plaintive call. She knows the shape of these words, if not their exact meanings. Her feeder has taught her "Dinner" and "Stay," and he makes his other sounds as he brings her meals. "Sorry old girl" means she can't go hunting.

"We're getting complaints," he says in his meaningless gabble, tossing her a fish. Myfanwy swoops and catches it. "The farmers round here think there's aliens or Bigfoot or something going after their flocks."

He tosses her another fish. She's getting full, and plays with this one before swallowing it. Her feeder takes the hint, putting the bucket away. When she comes close, he reaches out to pat her side. Sometimes she snaps at him, but she has learned not to, that her master will shout at her, and if she wants to keep her feeder happy, keeping her master happy will keep her alive.

Stuck inside for the night, she stretches her wings again, enjoying the thermal pockets of her eyrie. It's warm, out of the rain, and she's fed on a regular schedule. There are no mates, and when her insides itch to find one, she has to make do with rubbing her beak against the wall. But overall, it's a nice place to live, and sometimes they let her out to fly and hunt and take down a sheep or five. She can't complain.

Myfanwy glides down to where the humans buzz around, doing the things they need to in order for her to be fed. She lights upon a perch, and startles one of the humans.

"Hello there," she says, watching Myfanwy with a little worry. "You don't come down very often."

"Careful, Tosh," says another human, the mean one who chucked a stone at her once before her master shouted at him. "It'll take your arm off."

"Will she?" she asks, but she's asking the master, who shakes his head.

"No."

She reaches out, tentatively patting Myfanwy's side like her feeder does. "There's a good girl," she says in a soothing tone. "Sorry you're trapped here. I understand how that feels." Something in her voice is sad, the way her feeder gets sad. Myfanwy nudges her beak, rubbing against the human's face like she would a chick. She startles but doesn't pull away.

"See," says the master. "She likes you."

Myfanwy doesn't know what the humans say to her. She only knows the tone, and "Dinner," and "Stay." But this is nice, showing affection to one of them and getting patted in return, almost as nice as getting a sheep.


End file.
